


What The Fuck Is A Halloween?

by vidoxi



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Comedy, Exhibitionism, Gen, Public Humiliation, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 00:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6931051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vidoxi/pseuds/vidoxi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sans takes advantage of his unique looks and decides to make an appearance at a human Halloween party for money. Things do not go smoothly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What The Fuck Is A Halloween?

On the surface, Sans still does a bunch of odd jobs to get by. Not everyone is willing to hire monsters but he still gets by okay. Not like he’d like to though. His mattress he got from the Underground’s dump years ago has springs poking out of it now, and doesn’t smell too hot either (though when did it ever smell good?). He’s laying on the musty mattress, lazily sucking on a McDonald’s ketchup packet that’s hanging halfway out of his mouth when a stroke of genius strikes.

Halloween.

Why hadn’t he thought of it before? When he had seen the skeleton-themed party favors, toys, costumes, and other garbage that were in every store and every decorated yard, he had been merely amused. “didnt know I was so famous,” he had joked. But think about it. Who didn’t want a sentient skeleton at their Halloween party? He could make a fucking _killing._

Three days and hundreds of craigslist messages later, he had taken the highest offer he got, an almost unbelievable $24,000. Just looking at the number made him sweat. This was going to be cake. By far the best and easiest job he’s ever scored. Just show up, chat up the humans, stuff himself with free food and booze and that was it. His looks were finally going to earn him something other than stares.

The night rolls around and he goes to the client’s predictably huge and expensive-looking house. Music with a booming bass is already thumping from the backyard. He grabs a mini cocktail from the door greeter on the way in, and finds his guy pretty easy, but then the dude's perfect white smile sours into a frown.

“You have something else you’re changing into, right?”

“uhhh,” Sans stuffs his hands into the pockets of his blue hoodie, shuffling his slippered feet. “no?”

“Well you certainly can’t wear that,” the guy huffs. Sans had to admit that he hadn’t seen any of those skeleton decorations wearing anything like he was. Geez though, it wasn't enough that he was a living skeleton? Fucking rich people.

“should I go out and get a costume, like a cloak and scythe or something?” he suggests helpfully.

“You’re already,” he checks his watch “fourteen minutes late, and the party is in full swing. Just take off your clothes.”

Sans just stares at him for a moment.

“buddy, that might not seem like a big deal to you, but-”

“It’s not like you have anything down there anyway, right? Look, should we just call the deal off?”

Sans closes his eyes and breathes in deep. All that dosh. Almost as much as he makes in a year for one night. He breathes out, and opens his eyes.

“where can I put my clothes?”

 

Tonight, Sans is grateful for his natural pokerface. There are so, so many eyes on his exposed bones and he feels incredibly uncomfortable. However, the partygoers all think he’s rad as hell. It clearly doesn’t even occur to them that Sans would normally wear clothes. All night he’s touched, practically being felt up by humans. Some people have to work up their courage and poke him before leaping away with a scream, and the more bold humans hook their curious fingers around his ribs, stroke his arms and spine and anywhere else, making him shiver and fight the blush heating up his face. All in all there’s lots of squeezing and poking and prodding and shrieks of drunken wonder. A few request he open his mouth so they could see inside, or even stick their finger in his eye. One person grabbed his tailbone, causing him to leap about a foot in the air. He was by far the highlight of the party. Answering everyone’s predictable questions was tedious but occasionally amusing. ( _”So like, what did you look like when you were alive?”_ )

Yet another thing Sans didn’t anticipate were the cameras. Everyone wanted selfies with the skeleton. Everyone. Hundreds of pictures were taken of boozed up humans posing with an internally screaming skeleton monster. All of those pictures were almost immediately uploaded to social media, of course. It caused even more partygoers to show up, and even more were taken. The photos and occasional videos became viral hits, everyone was curious about monsters and here was one on full display. He was already well known in the monster community but now he was infamous. Alphys couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore. The rare times Undyne wasn’t teasing him, she was staring him down with a joyfully antagonistic grin on her face. Toriel was uncharacteristically pink-cheeked and giggling, and even normally deadpan Frisk seemed to narrow their eyes at him more than usual. “BROTHER, I KNOW TWENTY-FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS IS A LOT OF HUMAN GOLD, BUT WHAT’S THE PRICE OF DIGNITY, HM?”

That question was one he thought about a lot the following week. What _was_ the price of dignity? He lay awake on his new king-sized bed, snuggled between Egyptian cotton sheets, sipping gourmet ketchup from a crystal wine glass, mind whirring. Had it really been a good deal?

He reached a conclusion.

No.

No, and next year would be very different. For one, he’d look into the grim reaper costume for sure. Secondly, $12 for a photo op, plus another $5 per dumb question. Bare bones was going to cost a premium.

He settled back in bed, satisfied.

Sans began to wonder how well he’d be payed to be in a metal music video… Maybe even a horror movie or twelve. He made a mental note to call Mettaton in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> appropriation of skeleton culture. disgusting. sans is a race traitor.


End file.
